


Alternate Routes (The Bad Romance Remix)

by a_q



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Remix, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 13:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4789769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_q/pseuds/a_q
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love and revenge will lead you equally astray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Routes (The Bad Romance Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Alternate Routes (To The Same Destination)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600891) by [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem). 
  * In response to a prompt by [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem) in the [xmen_remix_madness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2015) collection. 



”Make peace with this,” mother said, taking the offered teacup before waving her hand to dismiss the servant from the room. She still wore her rust-colored travel coat and the gilded breastplate. Ceremonial, but could still stop an errand blade. Mother hadn't even stopped to change clothes before coming to deliver the news.

”You know this is your best chance to return to the public sphere and do something valuable with your skills," mother continued after a sip of her tea.

”I do not wish to marry a Westerner,” Erik said, trying to sound reasonable. “They have spilled too much of our blood. And I'm in public sphere whether you acknowledge it or not, mother. My latest pamphlet campaign garnered much attention.”

“Oh yes, I've seen your recent writings,” she said. “Inspired topic, 'Omega Revolution in the Eve of Peace'. It got my intelligence officers in raptures, they demanded funding to stop this emancipatory movement. It was all very amusing.”

“You don't take me or my work seriously!"

“You wish to paddle in the bathtub, when I'm offering you the ocean,” mother said. “It's time to cease these childish games, Erik. You have a duty to Genosha, and I expect you to fulfill it.”

Erik forced himself to ease his hold on his teacup, the porcelain strained under his grip. Of course, his duty. He knew his duty, like it had been engraved into his flesh and bones. The quirk of fate dictated that he would never rule as king here but as mere prince consort in some foreign court, the throne of Genosha falling to one of his cousins like a ripe fruit, while he bore heirs to some stranger like a broodmare.

He had allowed himself to dream so differently once, ten years ago.

Mother had always been pragmatic and ruthless in her rule. When Erik's maturity had neared, she had turned that ruthlessness toward the high council, in attempt to convince them to bring the order of succession to the general vote. Considering mother's iron will, and the emancipatory shift brought on by the war, it could've ended as Erik holding the title of heir apparent.

Then all plans had evaporated, when Erik had been caught acting without 'appropriate royal dignity'.

Erik had always thought it was a ridiculous turn of phrase, as if he had run naked up and down the palace corridors. Though that might have been more acceptable than exchanging a few kisses and love letters with a young buck on the seaside. The whole affair had blown out of proportion when the press had gotten the wind of it, and Erik had gotten his first and most painful lesson about the power written word could hold.

Since that ordeal, he had made his point to learn all he could about that same elusive power. In his exile of the court life, he had turned to influence the common people through dramatic and scathing pieces of political, social and philosophical writings, hiding behind the cover of pseudonyms. Nothing broke the boredom quite the same way than getting people to wake up and react to some satirical piece spread through the streets.

"My darling boy, listen to me.” Mother leaned to take his hand in hers and Erik looked up, trying to hide how his mind had wandered. She smiled, as if she already knew what he had thought. “The bloodshed, the grudges and feuding, it must stop, for the time being. We must become as precious to each other as family. The young king has hinted that he know about your... reputation, and does not mind. Do you see? He needs this marriage to happen as badly as you do. A ruling monarch without a spouse, who has ever heard such a thing? And its you dearest, you, who will save this situation for everyone.”

“Yes, well, I will be let outside again, at least,” Erik said, his voice coming out bitter, “once I am respectably married. I suppose I can influence the shaping of the Westchester as they rebuild. I do have some ideas about the social changes they sorely lack.”

”There's my spirited boy,” mother said, smiling brightly. She let his hand go and reached for her tea again. “Besides, no one said you have _stay_ married.”

”What do you mean?”  
  
”Marriage gives you some power, but imagine what you can do as the respectfully widowed Regent,” Mother added with a pleasant smile. ”All you need to do, is use the gifts nature gave you, and bear an heir to the Westchester throne.”  
  
"You are quite sure they will allow for such outcome," Erik said, considering what he would do if he was the newly crowned king. "Genoshan child on the throne of Westchester, that might spark a civil war. Maybe their aim is to claim I'm infertile and push me aside for the benefit of the second spouse from the Westchester nobility. What then?"  
  
“Fair point. So far in all the negotiations the young king has presented himself as forgiving and compassionate to all the concerns brought to the table,” mother said, tapping her nail against the rim of the teacup, a nervous habit she didn't always remember to reel in. “Which means he's either intelligent tactician, or rather vain and conscious about upholding his public image.”  
  
"Or both," Erik noted. "One doesn't exclude the other. What of it?"  
  
Mother leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Maybe you might consider practicing the heir making immediately, with someone you trust? The wedding will be very soon, you won't even show before then. When the child is born, your husband has no choice but acknowledge them to save his face, either out of vanity or political intelligence. Your place is secured, as is the throne of Westchester."    
  
"And if he wouldn't acknowledge the child? That scandal will eclipse everything I've done before, mother. I can't go back from that."  
  
Mother straightened and shrugged. "You'll come home, live quietly somewhere, continue your writing, like you have done so far. I'll freeze the diplomatical relations with them. It's better than outright war, but we can still trade there. You have nothing to lose and plenty to gain."  
  
"Mother, I..." Erik started to say, but he was interrupted when the door opened, and the servant returned to bring them a fresh pot of tea.  
  
"Do finish your tea," mother said calmly, as if nothing had been said. "We have plenty to do before the big day. Shall we discuss your wedding attire?"

* * *

 

”He's probably going to hate you,” Raven said, shooing away the servants that still lingered in the room. She waited until the door closed behind the last of them, before turning to help Charles with his jacket. “You do understand that he has spent his whole life being taught to hate Westchester. You've met his mother. Did she strike you as a softhearted person?”  
  
Charles held back a tired sigh. There was honestly no point to this discussion anymore. The contract was signed, and therefore the marriage was in effect since three days ago. The ceremony was a performance for the public, a show of celebration. A convenient reason for people to drink themselves in stupor, something Charles sorely wished he could do as well. 

“Yes, thank you, Raven, I remember the negotiations,” he murmured, observing his own image in the mirror. The tailored jacket was dark blue, with enough gold to be noticeable but not too much to be flaunting. Other than that, every garment he wore was black, which gave him a certain austerity and elegance. Which unfortunately was negated by the monstrosity of a crown he had to wear. There had been no way around it. All the newer, lighter crowns in the royal vaults were decked with gems taken as war profit from Genoshan jewelers and miners, something that no one was ready to admit but everyone knew all the same. The only choice had been his great-great uncle's crown, made from solid gold and decked with some astonishingly ugly semi-precious stones.  
  
“Charles? Are you listening to me?”  
  
“I have in fact thought of that possibility, Raven,” Charles said, turning his attention to her. “Yes, he might hate me, but you and I were raised to hate Genosha, weren’t we? We have risen above it; we must hope my husband can do the same.”  
  
“You hope, I prepare,” she said, handing him a glass with brown liquid. “Drink up.”  
  
“What's this?”  
  
“Little something that will keep you from performing any marital duties tonight, in case your husband insists,” Raven said lightly. 

“Ah. Of course, well thought.” Charles downed the drink, grimacing at the bitter taste. “If you ask my honest take on my mother-in-law, I think it would amuse her greatly to push a cuckoo's egg to me.”  
  
“If your places were reversed, would you do any different?” Raven went to the mirror to glance at it, tugging a lone diamond pin deeper in her intricate hair-do. “What's a better revenge, marrying your son with a bastard in his belly and planting a pure-bred Genoshan to our line of succession? Give her twenty, thirty years, and she would machinate her grandchild to sit in both thrones, no matter who sired it.”  
  
“True. It would be a smart play,” Charles said, handing the glass back to Raven. “Though this little concoction will put a stop to that. If my husband's belly starts to swell in the spring, it won't be by any child of mine. Divorce will be something of a scandal, of course, but it will blow over and I can focus finding...”

Charles stopped himself before the name passed his lips. It wasn't right to mention him today, in his wedding day. Raven nodded, offering a small smile. She knew about Max, about the weeks in the seaside. She knew everything there was to know, which was why Charles' had appointed her as the leader of his secret police.  
  
“If the kingdom's welfare is your concern, your welfare is mine,” Raven said, her expression turning serious. “I want you to be happy. Or as happy as you can be, considering.”  
  
“Don't. I don't want to think...”  
  
“You should. Now you have the means to find him, bring him to the palace. You could have him, it's no matter to anyone else. If your husband makes a fuss, give him the opportunity to have his own lover brought here. What a happy family you would make.”  
  
Charles shook his head for such ridiculous notion. It could never happen, there was too much scrutiny of his rule already, he couldn't risk it. Not for his own personal gain.  
  
“Perhaps I'll find happiness with my husband, if can learn to care for each other in some small way,” Charles said. “I've done all I can to ensure his comfort in the palace, let's hope it gives us a good start.”  
  
“It will take more than just hoping to keep that crown on your head,” Raven said with a soft smile. “I've arranged your personal bodyguards, and we vetted everyone part of the wedding party, but there are plenty of Genoshan nobility in attendance. Don't drink too much, and keep your daggers in your person at all times. Those might be ceremonial, but I made sure they are also sharp.”  
  
Before Charles could refuse such gesture, there was a short knock on the door and the footman stationed outside opened it. The Master of Ceremonies stepped in, giving a short bow.  
  
“Excuse me, Your Majesty, it's time. Are you ready to proceed, Sire?”  
  
Charles turned away from the mirror. “Am I ready?” he murmured to Raven. “Let's find out.”

* * *

 

He hadn't been ready.  
  
He had calculated every variable, planned and planned again for every possible outcome, but he hadn't prepared for this. To be betrayed by his own emotions, being ridiculed by the Genoshan royal family in such way. They must've known, if not Erik himself, then the rest of them. Known the truth and planned for this, this charade! What elation to have Max in his arms again, and what humiliation to take in his scent, so much deeper and fuller now.  
  
Charles took his place near the altar, hands clenched to fists to hide the shaking, his eyes fixed on the closed door. He could still taste Erik, Max, his scent lodged in the back of his throat like a shard of glass, tearing him to bloody ribbons. The pain coagulated into hatred, filling him with strange calmness. It was time to let go of childish hopes and face the reality as it was. He was the King of Westchester, the crown in his head meant he would take no insult, no scorn, no shame. Not from anyone.  
  
“What happens now?” Raven whispered behind his shoulder as the doors opened and the music started. “When it's Max?”  
  
Charles kept his eyes locked to the hooded figure approaching him down the aisle. “This changes nothing. Max is gone. This marriage will be over within a year.” He felt Raven inhaling, ready to say something, but Charles didn't want to listen. Not anymore. “We are in public, address me as you should.”  
  
Raven took a hesitant step back, and over the music Charles heard her whisper, “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”


End file.
